


Stress Relief

by riani1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riani1/pseuds/riani1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's better than punching people</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

> uploading an old story

Late at night, turning into morning, was the best time to get into the Atlantis gym for a private workout. At any other time, John had to be Colonel Sheppard, keeping an eye out for tensions between military personnel, too-serious rough-housing, and signs that the continuous rivalry between soldier and scientist was moving into guerilla warfare.

The rivalry had forced a schedule to be implemented. The Marines' physical conditioning requirements landed them three exclusive hours in the morning and two in the early evening when they could play loud rock music and tell crude jokes that would make civilians cringe. The scientists had three hours in the mid afternoon, when they could take a break from stubborn experiments and colleagues and not have to put up with remarks about scrawny geeks and baby weights. Everything else was open to everyone, except for the nightly yoga class and whenever someone was having a private ass-kicking/lesson from Teyla or Ronon.

John supposed he should have been asleep at 0100, but if he couldn't sleep he could at least try to wear himself out productively. The free weights were set up near a set of windows with an ocean view. He could leave most of the lights off, put in a few dozen reps and listen to the water. If he lost himself a little in the trance of moonlight through the window, sweat, and the murmur of Atlantis herself in the back of his mind, there would be no one around to mind.

He was on his third set of 20 on the forearm curls when he heard approaching voices and sighed. So much for a serene evening.

"He only stayed on Earth so he could sabotage me!"

The sigh that followed that quintessential McKay-ism was perfected Czech stoicism. "Yes, Rodney, he lives only to ruin you. All things in universe circle around the gravity well that is you."

McKay hesitated as he followed Zelenka into the gym. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

Zelenka smirked. "Physique is godlike. Those pants do not make your ass look big."

McKay hmphed. "At least you stayed to commit your character assassination in person. The nerve of that bastard!"

John peered between the racks of free weights. McKay and Zelenka had dropped gymbags on the benches on the far side of the gym. It wasn't surprising for the hard-core science types to show up in the gym in the wee hours. They were often up late working on simulations and experiments, then needing to do something physical to keep their minds sharp. Several of the workout machines had weird racks attached to them above the seats that John had finally figured out were places to hang a laptop. It made as much sense as a TV on a stationary bike.

"Colonel Carter was quite clear," Zelenka went on. "Was Kavanaugh's face in shit, not yours."

McKay threw his towel against the wall. "He accused me of stealing her work! He called me a plagiarist! No matter how much Sam tells people that I wasn't even in the galaxy when she came up with those equations, there are going to be people who believe I only came up with them first because I saw her work!"

John winced. You could accuse McKay of every sin in the calendar, and he'd only laugh, but call into question his intellectual integrity . . . Kavanaugh better pray he was never in the same solar system as McKay ever again.

Zelenka sighed. "Rodney, always there will be people who think ill of you. Cannot bash in all their faces. Dedicate your Nobel to crushing their egos." He took hold of McKay's shoulders and turned him to face the heavy punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner. "Is what gym is for, to punch things less precious than expensive laptops."

"I can probably wire in the screen from the laptop that had the grape juice spilled on the keyboard, make a good one again." He sounded positively sheepish.

"Yes, yes, do that. In the morning. Now you will do exercises to bring down blood pressure that Carson recommended."

"Yes, mother," McKay sighed.

Zelenka went to scout the exercise equipment while McKay unzipped his gymbag. John's eyebrows went up at the sight of the red boxing gloves McKay pulled out. The man who was afraid of everything boxed? But then, those shoulders had to come from someplace other than power bars and pudding. 

McKay got one glove on and tied, then glared at the other one. "Radek!"

"Yes, yes, I come pull up your pants for you." Zelenka swiftly tied off the other glove, checked the fit of the first one, then patted McKay's shoulder. "Go, imagine Kavanaugh's beady eyes sneering at you from the bag."

McKay gave an evil grin and headed for the punching bag.

John carefully replaced the barbell on the rack, muffling the chink of metal. He had meant to make his presence known, not wanting to look like he was spying, but McKay didn't need another audience for ranting. It amused John to think of Carson recommending that McKay go hit things to relieve stress. He wondered, more seriously, how often Zelenka dragged Rodney out of the labs specifically to blow off steam. 

Stretching his shoulders and back, McKay stood in front of the bag for a moment, then tapped his fists against the heavy cloth. "You're a nasty, weaslish little man, Kavanaugh, and no one will ever say nice things about you behind your back," he muttered. He pulled back his right fist, then let fly.

The rattle of the chains holding the bag covered John's gasp. Chalk dust had flown off the bag, and he made a note not to make another grab for McKay's desserts. A solid left made another cloud of chalk dust rise, McKay stepped back for a moment, then stepped in for a low right jab that made John's kidneys hurt from across the room.

Zelenka looked around the room and spotted John behind the free weights. John put a finger to his lips, and Zelenka smiled as he came over.

"Not to worry," he said quietly. "Rodney won't hear us. He is listening to Kavanaugh's bones crunch under his fists."

"How long has he been going for violence as his preferred coping method?" John asked. He was going to have to keep a better eye on Rodney's temper when the man was out in the field with a sidearm strapped to his leg.

Zelenka frowned slightly. "Is not a tendency to be encouraged in a man who knows how to build nuclear weapons, no. Sometimes Katie Brown can distract him, sometimes he is in such a vile temper that nice young ladies don't want to be around." He sighed. "He follows Carson's orders better now that Carson is no longer here, but he needs those orders even more."

John didn't need any instruction in how losing friends shortened tempers. "So what's this about Kavanaugh?"

Zelenka muttered in Czech. "The little weasel has been sucking up to SGC bigwigs. He thinks criticizing McKay will please people like Colonel Carter."

"He's not really wrong," John said reluctantly. 

"No, is true." No one could make satisfaction look more evil than Zelenka. "He drew out enough rope to hang himself though, this time. Colonel Carter may not like McKay, but she knows him. She knows Rodney would cut his own throat before thinking so little of his own work that he would steal someone else's work to pad his own. Is one of his few virtues, when he finally admits you have a good idea, he'll say so."

Each profession had its unforgiveable sins, and accusations were powerful weapons. Call a soldier a coward, be prepared to back it up. John had been called many things, some accurately, but coward was never one of them. If Kavanaugh had made his accusations while within McKay's reach, there would have been violence.

"So how did McKay find out about this?" John asked.

"Colonel Carter came to the labs today to let him know what was going on. She is fair, honest woman. Kavanaugh made his remarks openly, and she rebutted them just as openly. Did you know she has official letterhead, with SGC logo and her full rank printed at the top? Why don't you have stationery?"

John felt himself blanch. "Excuse me?"

"We could whip something up for you for your email, use the Atlantis logo and your title. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Commander of Atlantis Military Forces." Zelenka nodded to himself. "Except then we'd need to make some for Rodney, and he'd use it for everything, like complaints about people not changing toilet paper in lab washroom."

"Radek."

"Oh, yes, sorry."

John watched McKay for a few moments. His punch grouping wasn't the best, but he made up for it with power. "There's still going to be talk, though."

Zelenka nodded. "Even if they know it's false, the chance to blacken his name will be too good to miss. And with Colonel Carter here, there is no one on Earth to counter the rumors."

"Is Kavanaugh still there?"

"Unfortunately. There is brilliance between the persecution and paranoia, and he knows the Stargate program."

"So he wouldn't be hard to find if we ever find ourselves back on Earth."

Zelenka raised an eyebrow, then smiled slowly. "No, he would not."

McKay stepped back from the bag and wiped his sweaty face with his arm. He pawed at the bottom of his t-shirt with his gloved hands, trying to grab it. "Radek!" He turned, waving his arms in frustration, then blinked at seeing John. "When did you get here?"

John was fighting a snicker. "I was here first."

McKay made a dismissive gesture, but it was ruined by the big red glove at the end of his arm. John did snicker then, but he bit it off at the look of embarrassment on McKay's face. "What do you need, Rodney?"

He looked suspicious, then nodded towards his gym bag. "Towel. Please."

John nodded and went to retrieve the towel. "I didn't know you boxed," he said, handing the towel over.

McKay awkwardly wiped his face as he studied John. "I don't hit people. Because then people get to hit you back."

"You let Ronon hit you. Get him a set of gloves and square off against him."

McKay gasped in horror. "Let him punch me? Are you mad? I need my brain!"

It was hard to keep the grin down. "Corporal Sorgensen likes to work out with the bag. Heck, I could--"

"No," McKay said firmly. "I--prefer not to have people punching me, Colonel. Especially people I know."

Zelenka fidgeted a bit nearby, and John nodded. No one could claim McKay flinched--very often--in the face of personal danger, but everyone had their limits on what they put themselves through voluntarily. "Let me spot you on the bag, then. You can hit it harder if it's not moving."

"Whatever." The big red gloves waved in the air, dragging another laugh out of John.

"I'm sorry," he managed as McKay glared at him. "It's just--it reminds me of Wallace."

McKay frowned. "Wallace? I was expecting you to say Mickey Mouse."

"Nah. Mickey's gloves are white, and Wallace is a mad scientist."

The snarky grin was peeking out. "Does that make you Gromit?"

"The debonair, laconic hero who saves the day? Of course."

"Of course."

Zelenka muttered something Czech and shook his head. "I leave him in your hands, Colonel. Go, make cheese jokes over there." He headed towards the door.

"Hey!" McKay protested. "You said you were going to put a few miles on the bike."

"I am not the one whose stress levels have nurses and orderlies taking bets on date of your first stroke. I prefer to sleep. Go pummel vicarious Kavanaugh." He waved and left.

John patted McKay's shoulder. "Let him go, I'll make sure you don't keel over from manly over-exertion."

McKay shrugged and tossed his towel on the bench before going back to the bag. "So, which one is your favorite? 'A Grand Day Out', with the space ship?"

John braced himself on the other side of the bag. "Nah, 'Close Shave.'"

"The little plane?"

"The little plane."


End file.
